Through my eyes

"Take care of him" the young boy would always tell his grandmother before leaving on a class trip. He was always very kind to me, just like the rest of his family. His mother was always working, but she was the one who had bought me for the boy's 12th birthday. Although sometimes rough, she was kind and loving. I spent a lot of my spare time with his grandmother. When the boy and his mother were working between 8 AM and 3 PM, she would make sure I always had enough water or biscuits. And when she finished cooking and washing, she would always talk to me and I would respond in my own language. You see, even though the boy's 15th birthday was approaching, the old lady still thought of me as a strange creature due to my colourful feathers or round beak.

And last but not least was the boy, always friendly and joyful to see me. He would talk the most to me, about what was happening at a place he called "skuul", or what his homework was. When he wasn't watching TV or writing on pieces of paper strange symbols, he would press two buttons and a large, rectangular machine would awaken along with its 32 inch partner. After a few minutes, the "scrin" would lighten up and show many i9mages which apparently made the boy laugh or get angry, though I never understood which made him happy and which didn't.

Still, there was one small, rectangular white box the boy liked the most. It had a hand held device which magically controlled it, which needed regular cleaning and battery changing. And sometimes he would put my cage next to the couch so that I could watch how he played. He played many games. When he was angry, he would play a game in which he either was or controlled magic sticks of different shapes and colors which would make loud noises whenever the man in front of them fell to the ground, never to rise again. With one press, the sticks would shoot small coconuts that made even louder noises and released more colours, mostly yellow and orange. When he was happy, he would play games in which a man would either steal cars and use the aforementioned sticks or he would use a sword and fly through the air killing ugly monsters. When he was bored, he would play a strange game in which you couldn't see the main character (although everyone called him "President") but you could see the city and decide wether to build buildings or not, what buildings to build and how much of that green paper with people's faces on it you would give to the workers.

I was always admired by friends that came by. His best friend would comment whenever I sang, but he liked me, while his class mate admired me since he had a parrot like me too. The two little cousins and neighbors would always stare at me with round eyes and pat my head while the adult guests would tell them not to, fearing that I may bite.

I can't say I long for my homecountry of Colombia, or for my spouse who died a year ago. I am well fed, always entertained, always happy and I am only 7 years old, so I will live to see the boy graduate from "skuul". But I've always wondered why he played the games in the first place. Was he addicted to them? I don't think so. Maybe he just liked to relax, like any other human, and everyone has his own ways of relaxing. Still, I wonder if he could give me some of the coconuts he throws to other people...